


Follow

by SeverinadeStrango



Category: Sengoku Basara
Genre: Akechi Mitsuhide is His Own Warning, Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Drug Use, Implied Gang Violence, Implied Organized Crime, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mentions of sex work, Surrealism, Unhealthy Obsessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 15:01:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18122669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeverinadeStrango/pseuds/SeverinadeStrango
Summary: Mitsuhide attempts to distract himself.





	Follow

His refuge and his prison this was the one place that Nobunaga could not reach him it was the only place that still remained untouched by time his constant sanctuary, tangled blankets on ground. Air thick with smoke, little speakers crackling with the effort that it took to function properly, Mitsuhide stayed where he’d remained for the past two days, at least. 

Take another drag feel the burn feel the drift. It was better than feeling whatever that was and he couldn’t say that he minded floating three inches above the ground all the time – if only this lasted forever, he could drift alongside in a perfect parallel for as long as it took. Suddenly, he understood exactly what it felt like to be truly and irreversibly addicted – but it was not to this, the burning stump pinched delicately between two long fingers. 

It was to the stare the eyes the chill the shiver the coldness of his hands that consumed Mitsuhide whole and threatened to swallow him forever now, with no hope of escape whatsoever.

“Let me,” he slurred aloud to no one, and he wasn’t quite sure what he was pleading _for_ either. There was no one around who would hear him, who would take mercy on him and give him what he needed most, because it could not be attained, it had to be earned. He had to be deemed worthy, he had to be worth the time and he wasn’t, not wholly, not yet. These were his worst days, off days and gone days where he had no purpose and destination and there was no rest to be found when he was utterly alone because he would no longer have sight of that which was his lone remaining motivation.

He rolled over onto his back and bit back the meaningless tears that came every so often, without a cause or a rhyme or a reason, as if trying to hold himself there within the twisted blankets. Standing was useless – he was too far tangled and too far gone, even if he tried the door seemed like it was a thousand feet away (and the distance only grew every time he blinked). He wanted those hands on him like before and they were not and he, he was gone there was nothing to anchor him down. 

Another long, dry breath fluttery eyelids cloud of smoke and he let his head fall back. What would it be like to earn those hands on his hips trailing down along his spine soft and yet harsher than any punishment he had ever known before leaving bruises or whispers of touches it didn’t matter he’d take it all the same. His own fingers trailed along the lines of his pointed hip-bones and he stopped there, not out of shame but simply because it wouldn’t be the same. Oh, Mitsuhide knew how to make himself shake, he knew how to wipe all remaining thoughts from his own mind, but a part of him did not want to. He wanted to hold on to the ghosts of those feelings, and nothing, nothing would ever be the same. 

He could not replicate the cold stare that made him shiver with delight, nor the gentle growl that would lay under each and every one of his Lord’s words, delightfully omnipresent. What was left of the stub between his fingers crumbled away into ashes, and he coughed once, his eyes stinging – from that and from the fear that welled up from deep within him. 

What if he had been forgotten? It had only been a day and then some, of course, but his Lord had countless other distractions – what if he had not served his purpose, done his job, what if his time was crumbling away as well, and yet even that in itself drew him closer. Delightful fear and he’d not known anything quite like it before. The small clock against the wall, flickering dimly, showed him that in a few hours, he would once again go back. No, he served no great use to his Lord – but he would feel that gaze on him, even if it was just for a second, and for that he was willing to die a hundred times. Perhaps. 

Dying, Mitsuhide decided, was draining. He would need what little energy he could muster before then. Curling up on his side, he closed his eyes, and let himself drift again.


End file.
